


The Broken and The Best

by flannelfeelings



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Platonic Relationships, Post-Prison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rosa Diaz & Jake Peralta Friendship, Trauma, s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/flannelfeelings
Summary: Rosa comforts Jake after a difficult PTSD episode.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz & Jake Peralta, mentioned, platonic - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	The Broken and The Best

**Author's Note:**

> hi sorry!! i just got some jake and rosa bestie feels and wanted to poop out a little drabble about what a post-prison moment might look like
> 
> also in s7 "Trying" Jake and Rosa both separately mention that they know a secret spot (the training dummy room) and of course my brain took that and made it into something it isnt! I love their friendship
> 
> This isn't much but I do hope you enjoy and please share your thoughts!

Jake didn’t like to admit when things got too overwhelming. When the holding cells slammed a little too loudly and made him jump out of his skin, causing Amy to reach across their shared desk space and squeeze his hand. When the shouts of perps began ringing through his ears, taking him back to a crowded prison yard full of people who’d love nothing more than to kill him. When things got rough with a suspect and he was reminded of the brutal beating he suffered at the hands of the C.O. Wilson.

Sometimes, it was easier to retreat. Find somewhere safe, quiet and alone in the precinct. He loved Amy more than anything, but he didn’t like having to explain to her what this was like. How it felt coming back from prison, trying to readjust to normal life, trying to put the scattered pieces of his life back together bit by bit.

She had already done so much for him, he didn’t like to burden her.

Today was particularly bad.

Amy was out with Charles working a lead, and there was no one there to grab his hand when the cell door slammed shut, reminding him all too viscerally of lights out at the prison. Jake felt a familiar sweat bead on the back of his neck, and before he could process what was happening, his legs were pulling him across the bullpen, down the hall, toward the often abandoned CPR training closet.

The closet was so creepy, full of old training baby dolls, so no one liked to go in there. It was mostly a secret spot, only Jake and Rosa knew about it. In fact, it had become a place of solace for them in their initial days as detectives with the 99. When the job got too overwhelming, they’d often disappear here together and share a quick freakout before putting on their brave faces and heading back out.

Since those days, it had become a seldom-used area of refuge for the pair, whenever they needed to chat secretly, mostly for unimportant things like the surprise party they were throwing for Amy, or what to get Gina for her birthday, or pranking Charles, mundane things like that. It hadn’t been used for real stuff in a long while.

Until they got back from prison, that was. The closet was getting used more than ever lately.

Jake’s head glanced up as he heard the doorknob turning, and saw the swing of the door start to push open. He cursed silently; he’d forgotten to lock it. He hoped and prayed whoever it was would go away quickly; they didn’t need to see this.

However, moments later, he was greeted by a familiar pair of black combat boots, and a surly voice asking, “Rough day, Peralta?”

-

_The sound of a glass bottle hitting the bartop was what first got Jake’s attention. He swiveled around in his chair, eyes going wide at the beautiful woman who was taking her seat beside him. She had shoulder-length black curls, framing a menacing, somber expression. Her mahogany eyes bore an intense gaze, and her bowed lips were set in a straight line. She wore a pair of charcoal pants and a black leather jacket._

_Jake recognized her in an instant from drills. Rosa Diaz, a fellow officer-in-training with him at the Brooklyn Police Academy. They’d only been in the program for three weeks now, but he’d started to see her face quite often as they worked their way through the training. She was intimidating; tough, independent, brash._

_And now she was sitting beside him at the bar, why?_

_“Quit staring,” She hissed at him, glancing sideways to meet his wide-eyes, “You look like an idiot.”_

_Jake blinked rapidly, swallowing all the coherency he had and simply replying with, “You’re the idiot!”_

_She chuckled, shaking her head, “You’re Jacob Peralta?”_

_“Jake.” He answered with a brief smile, sticking his hand out._

_“Diaz. Rosa Diaz.” she gripped his hand in a bone-crushing handshake, and broke away a moment later._

_“So,” Jake glanced around the crowded floor of Shaw’s Bar, “Haven’t seen you around here too often.”_

_Diaz glanced over his shoulder at the collection of loud, boorish men that they both recognized from their class. She grimaced visibly, “Not a fan of the clientele.”_

_“That makes two of us.” Jake agreed, pursing his lips as he followed her gaze toward the laughing group of men. He turned back to face her curiously, “Are they giving you a hard time or something?” He couldn’t help the note of protectiveness that seeped into his voice at the question, though he figured this woman could certainly take care of herself._

_Rosa rolled her eyes, knocking back a swig of her beer before replying, “If they were giving me a hard time, I’d handle it.”_

_“Figured as much.” Jake agreed, “Sorry.”_

_“No sweat.” She shrugged, “How about you? Are they giving **you** trouble?” _

_Jake barked out a short laugh, shaking his head, “No, no they’re fine. Just not my people.”_

_A small smirk tugged at the corner of Rosa’s lips, “Who **are** your people?” _

_He was a bit taken aback by her question. He thought for a moment. He had his mom and his Nana. He loved them both, but he figured she wasn’t exactly asking if he was a Mama’s boy. No dad worth mentioning. He had Gina, though she was busy with other things at the moment. He had some friends from school, but time and schedules seemed to push them further apart as the years went on. And if he was being really honest, none of them would understand what it was like working your way through the academy._

_Who **were** his people? _

_“I dunno.” He answered honestly, “I guess I don’t have any people really.”_

_Diaz’ expression was thoughtful, and after a pause, she said, “I don’t either.”_

_Jake met her eyes somberly, brow quirking up with a bit of optimism, “Maybe we can be each other's people for a while.”_

_Rosa looked him over appraisingly, then offered him a short nod, “You got my back?”_

_“I got your back.” He assured her, “You got mine?”_

_Rosa took another swig of beer and replied, “Alright Peralta, it’s a deal. We’ve got each other’s backs. Don’t screw me over.”_

_Jake snorted, a bit thrown off, “I won’t be screwing anything!” The words were already out before he could compute just how embarrassing they were._

_Diaz snorted, “Glad you can admit it champ.” she flagged down the bartender, “Hey, another round over here for this guy, on me. Apparently he’s having a dry spell.”_

-

Jake could barely meet her eyes as she stepped into the training closet, shutting the door gingerly behind her. The action was so gentle, and unlike Rosa, that it gave him a pause, and he glanced up at her frame. She approached slowly, as if afraid to startle him.

He probably looked pretty pathetic, knees tucked up to his chest, back against the shelves of training babies, eyes red-rimmed and face sheened with sweat.

“Rough day?” she repeated, closing the distance to sit beside him, looking straight ahead at another row of creepy dolls.

Jake let out a weak, trembling laugh, “I’ve had better. I’m alright Rosa, thanks for checking on me though.”

Rosa sighed loudly, still not meeting his eyes, “Well, Amy’s still out.”

He frowned, “So?”

“So maybe I can’t justify leaving your ass in here when you’re clearly not okay, and I dunno if you’ll have anyone to talk to.” Her voice was hard, brokering no room for argument.

Jake looked down at his feet, the white tips of his converse stark against the old, yellowing linoleum. The faint drip of a water leak somewhere in the ceiling could be heard above their slow breaths, and if he focused really hard, he could almost swear he heard Hitchock and Scully somewhere in the bullpen arguing over the last half of a hoagie.

“It’s fine.” He repeated, ashamed at how vulnerable he probably looked, “Just uh...you know sometimes I hear some shit or see some shit and it just...brings me back there.” he shuddered involuntarily, cringing, “Can’t help but get lost in it sometimes.”

Rosa nodded stiffly, “Yeah. I uh...I get that man.”

“What was the worst part for you?” Jake asked quietly, glancing sideways to try and read her stoic expression.

Her shoulders sagged a bit as she let out a low breath, pursing her lips thoughtfully. For a moment, he was afraid she was just going to ignore the question and leave, but then she spoke.

“Isolation was pretty bad.” She admitted quietly, still facing forward, still as a statue, “I thought a lot about my family, and Adrian. I thought about...what it would be like to die in there. Alone. About my only legacy being that I was a dirty cop who died on the cold floor of a maximum security cell.”

Jake swallowed hard, his own memories and feelings from isolation bubbling up to the surface at her words. He’d had plenty of similar thoughts. It was somewhat soothing to be reminded that someone else was going through the same things as him.

“Did you ever look at the wall and start to imagine things?” Jake asked quietly, tentative and shameful.

Now, she turned to meet his eyes, “Like what?”

Jake sighed, scratching the back of his neck hesitantly before speaking, “I just sat there, eyes glazed over, thinking about a lot of stuff. But there was one thing I kept replaying in my head. Walking down the hall toward Amy’s apartment. The building is really old and has kind of a moth-ball smell. I usually hate it, but I missed that smell more than anything.” He half-shrugged, “Maybe ‘cause it signifies that I’m gonna see her soon.”

“You were thinking about mothballs?” Rosa demanded.

“No!” Jake shook his head, “I just mean, sitting there in the dark and quiet I let myself get wrapped up in imagining it. For a moment, I was really there. I looked straight ahead, and it was the ugly brown wallpaper in her building, and the old musty carpet. I was taking steps forward, moving down the hall, getting closer and closer to her door with each step. But every time I reached out for the knob, my fingers hit concrete, and I was right back in the cell.” He grimaced, “Reality came crashing down hard.”

“There were times that I really thought I was sleeping in bed with my mom.” Rosa offered up quietly, “Vivid dreams. She really only ever let me do it when I was sick, but she’d curl up behind me and stroke my hair. Sometimes she’d sing me Spanish lullabies.” Rosa half-smiled, shaking her head, “But the next morning we’d always pretend it didn’t happen. My parents aren’t exactly touchy-feely.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Jake teased, which earned him an elbow to the ribs.

Rosa reached out to touch the floor, running her fingers along it slowly, “Sometimes I don’t know what’s real anymore. I have to touch things, have Pimento grab me hard and tell me where I am. Sometimes I have to be forced to realize that what’s happening is real and not in my imagination.”

Jake nodded in understanding, “I pity Amy. She wakes up most nights trying to assure me that I’m home. Most of the time I wake up and think I’m there.”

“Doubt that’ll ever go away.” Rosa said glumly.

“God, I hope it does.” Jake murmured, shaking his head, “She’s not gonna want to marry such a broken dude.”

Rosa scoffed, “You aren’t broken, Peralta.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow up at her, “Wasn’t it us just two seconds ago who had a conversation about how we can’t tell reality from imagination?”

She sighed, “Okay, you’re broken. So am I. But Amy loves you dude, no matter how you come. She wouldn’t have been willing to wait fifteen years if that wasn’t true.”

“I guess you’re right.” Jake conceded tentatively, “God. How’d this all get so fucked up? We were supposed to just become badass detectives and save the world everyday.”

Rosa snorted out a bitter laugh, “Maybe our problem was actually trying to do good. Seems like most of the cops in this city are dirty.”

“It’s pretty fucking overwhelming.” Jake said softly.

“Yeah.” Rosa agreed, “But at least we have the squad.”

“There’s that.” Jake nodded, letting out a low breath as he wiped at his face and looked at Rosa, “I’m good. I’m alright. Thanks, Rosa.”

“Don’t mention it.” She stood slowly, “Just promise me you’ll come find me next time I run off to the closet?”

Jake hopped up to his feet, nodding surely, “Of course, that’s what it’s here for.”

Rosa nodded back and grabbed the door handle, turning to face him once more, “Peralta?”

“Yeah?”

She looked somewhat unsurely at her feet, then up to his face, her eyes earnest, “For what it’s worth, if I had to go through all this shit, I’m glad it was with you.” 

Jake met her gaze seriously, the rare sincerity of her expression not missed by him, “Same here, Diaz. We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

She chuckled once, “A thousand pushups.”

“See ya’ out there Diaz.”

“See ya’ Peralta.”

As Jake gathered himself and got ready to get back out into the bullpen, he echoed Rosa's sentiment. He wouldn't wish what they'd gone through on anyone, but he was grateful they went through it together. And he knew they meant what they said. 

They had each other's backs, and that would never change. 

**Author's Note:**

> Quarterly reminder that I hate cops irl and these are just fictional cops in an idealistic world of what good cops are...it's been ACAB for me for many many years.


End file.
